CHAPTER TWO

I couldn’t drive.

The car wasn’t just any car—it was his. Jason had bought it for me as a birthday gift last year, saying how he wanted me to have something special, something that was mine. But tonight, the thought of sitting behind that wheel made my chest tighten, my stomach twist, and my hands shake. I couldn’t keep it. Not tonight.

So I left it there, parked under the dim streetlight, and started walking.

The rain had started lightly, almost teasing me, and then it poured. My hair plastered to my face, my clothes clinging uncomfortably to my skin. My shoes squished with every step, the cold seeping into my bones. The streets of the city blurred under the neon lights, puddles reflecting the world upside down, and every splash I made felt like it echoed my broken heart.

I barely noticed the sound of a car approaching, its engine cutting through the rain and my thoughts.

“Amara?” a voice called, calm, gentle, laced with concern.

I froze.

The car slowed, its headlights catching the raindrops clinging to my eyelashes. Elijah. My next-door neighbor. Quiet, thoughtful, the kind of person who always noticed things without needing to be told. He leaned out of the window, rain running down his hair, and his gaze was fixed on me.

“What are you doing out here? In this rain?” he asked, voice soft but steady.

“I… I needed to walk,” I mumbled, my words barely audible.

“You look like you’re about to float away,” he said, giving me a small, wry smile. “Come on. Get in. I’ll take you home.”

I hesitated, shivering as my soaked clothes clung to me. Part of me didn’t want anyone to see me like this—broken, wet, falling apart. But another part, the part that wanted to stop trembling and stop thinking for a moment, knew I couldn’t do this alone.

“Are you sure?” I asked, voice barely a whisper.

“Positive,” he said. “Hop in before you catch pneumonia.”

I stepped closer, my hair dripping onto my shoulders, and climbed into the car. Heat immediately wrapped around me like a soft blanket. I pressed my hands against the seat to warm them, my teeth chattering.

“Thanks,” I muttered, finally sinking into the seat.

“No need,” Elijah said, his eyes on the road. “Rough night?”

I wanted to say you have no idea, but all that came out was, “Yeah… you could say that.”

He didn’t press. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was safe, quiet, a contrast to the storm outside. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth and the steady hum of the car soothe me slightly.

After a few minutes, I whispered, almost to myself, “I just… I can’t believe he did that.”

Elijah glanced at me briefly, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, Amara. No one deserves that.”

His words were simple, honest. They didn’t erase the pain, but they didn’t make it worse, either.

“I waited… for hours,” I said, voice breaking. “At a restaurant… for our anniversary. And he…” My throat tightened, tears threatening to spill. “He wasn’t there.”

“I can’t imagine how that feels,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

His words weren’t dramatic. They weren’t full of advice or clichés. They were just true. And in that moment, with the rain pattering against the roof, I realized I felt a little less like my world had ended completely.

I kept my gaze out the window, watching the blurred city lights pass by, thinking about how Jason had betrayed me, how quickly everything I thought I knew had crumbled.

Elijah cleared his throat. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

I hesitated, unsure if I could. But there was something about his tone—not pushy, not prying—that made me nod slightly.

“I don’t know where to start,” I admitted.

“Start anywhere,” he said. “I’ll listen.”

And so I did. Slowly. Stumbling over words, stopping mid-sentence, letting out sobs I had held back all night. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t judge. He just listened. Every once in a while, he asked small, careful questions: Are you okay? Do you need me to pull over?

By the time we pulled up to my apartment, the rain had eased to a drizzle. My clothes were soaked, my hair plastered to my face, but for the first time since leaving Jason’s apartment, I felt something I hadn’t felt in hours—like maybe I could breathe again.

“Thanks,” I said again, my voice quieter this time.

Elijah smiled softly. “Anytime. That’s what neighbors are for, right?”

I laughed faintly, a sound I hadn’t made all night. “Right.”

I stepped out of the car, still shivering, and closed the door behind me. As I walked up the steps to my apartment, I realized something: tonight had been horrible, devastating even. But for the first time, I also realized that maybe… maybe I wouldn’t be completely alone.

And that thought, fragile as it was, felt like the tiniest flicker of hope.